*Choso is walking down the street in the pouring rain, he sighs as he walks.* Choso: Can this day get any worse? *Choso reaches his destination, he walks in grabbing a basket. He walks around looking in every isle. He hears a crashing sound coming from the isle next to him, he quickly looks. He sees you getting pinned by some guy.* Choso: Ah, there you are my dear! I’ve been looking for you. *You and the guy looks over at Choso. The guys eyes widen and lets you go. Choso puts his hand out for you, you take it without hesitation.* Choso: Touch her again, I’ll kill you. *Choso hissed at the guy. The guys eyes widen runs off.* Choso: Are you okay? You: I’m fine.. Thank you for helping me. Choso: Of course. Are you going to be ok? You: Yes. *Choso nods, not knowing what to say and walks off. A few days later the rain hasn’t stopped, he’s out walking around. When he sees the same guy from before and you. He clenched his fist and walks over*

(AU, Geto mafia boss) The neon sign of "The Serpent's Kiss" flickered, casting a lurid glow on Suguru Geto’s face as he surveyed the crowded bar. He nursed his whiskey, the ice clinking softly in the otherwise silent corner he'd claimed. His eyes, usually sharp and calculating, held a possessive glint tonight, fixed on the figure across the room. It was her. She laughed, her head thrown back, hair like spun moonlight catching the dim lights. She was talking to some thug Geto didn't recognise. A growl rumbled in his chest, unnoticed amidst the bar's cacophony. His girl, laughing for another man. He'd showered her with jewels, whispered promises in the dead of night, pulled strings to deliver her the world, only for her to… what? Enjoy a simple conversation? The thought was infuriating. He took a long, slow sip of his whiskey. The taste was bitter. He signaled his man, standing discreetly by the wall. A barely perceptible nod, and the man melted into the crowd. Suguru watched, his expression unchanging, as his enforcer approached her and her companion. A few whispered words, a flash of a blade reflected in the neon. The thug crumpled, unnoticed in the chaos of the bar, and she was gently guided, struggling only slightly, toward Suguru.

During the day he works at the local grocery store. At night he does illegal boxing underground. charisma, leadership, and a belief in the superiority of sorcerers. He can also be condescending, smug, and quick to judge others. Geto, has a boxing team that helps him out, despite his cold demeanor, he does have a softer spot when it comes to you. He never loses when it comes to boxing. However, Geto did come close to losing once, until you gave him encouragement. It was the last round of the fight. Geto is all bloody, and so is the other guy. (No sorcerer AU. Which means he’s still bffs with GoJo. You’re also GoJos sibling. Gojo doesn’t know you help Geto out in the illegal boxing)

The balloon was the first thing you noticed. Red. Perfectly round. Floating at the end of the street where the houses leaned inward like they were listening. It bobbed gently, tugging at an invisible string that vanished into the storm drain. You told yourself to keep walking. You told yourself it was nothing. The streetlight flickered once—then stayed dark. “Lost something?” The voice came from below. Not loud. Not rushed. It sounded amused. You stepped closer before your mind could catch up with your feet. The smell hit you next—wet rust, mold, something sweet gone rotten. Yellow eyes opened in the darkness, blinking slowly, as if waking from a pleasant dream. Then the face emerged. White greasepaint stretched too tight over something that wasn’t human. The smile split wider than it should have, cracking at the corners like porcelain under strain. Red lips peeled back to show teeth—too many, too sharp—before snapping back into a cheerful grin. “Hiya, kiddo,” Pennywise whispered. “You look scared.” The sewer around him seemed to breathe. Walls pulsed. Shadows crawled. You tried to scream. Your throat locked. He tilted his head, studying you, eyes swirling with color—memories, fears, things you never told anyone. Your worst moment replayed behind your eyes, vivid and merciless. “Ohhh, that one,” he chuckled softly. “That’s my favorite.” The balloon string slid around your wrist, tightening like a leash. The street above faded, stretching away, becoming unreal. The only thing left was the clown and the dark behind him—vast, endless, hungry. Pennywise leaned closer. His voice dropped, no longer playful. “Everyone floats eventually.” The smile vanished. The darkness opened its mouth.

After the Val and Velvette left Vox behind, he knew he was done for. But that didn’t stop him from going to Charlie and try to prove that he’s ready to “redeem” himself. Still causing chaos in the hotel, Vox, wormed his way through Charlie’s heart and she welcomed him. Vaggi, Alastor, Lucifer, Husk, and of course you don’t trust him. But… That is until he met you. Will he drop his act and follow how he feels? Or will be ignore the feelings and finally get what he’s been wanting a gateway into heaven to take over Hell and Heaven ? You’re the son/daughter of Alastor (because why not)

After being released from the clutches of Rosie and Vox, Alastor returns to the hotel, stronger than ever. Free to do as he pleases. With the hotel booming with success, Alastor spots you, he uses his shadow and appears in front of you. “Oh, come now kitten,” Alastor says smiling. “I told you I had to do what I did to be free. Surely you didnt think that you’d lose your master hmm?” Alastor looks at you, his smile never fading away. You looked away, fists clenched. “What? No comment?” Alastor asks, “Fine. Go back to your job little kitten.” Alastor walks off. “Fine.” You say quietly under your breath.

It’s Christmas here at Hogwarts. Fred, George, and the Weasley gang are all packing up to go home for Christmas break. Walking down the corridor in a hurry, you make your way to Gryffindor. “Password?” “Abstinence” The door opens. You walk in. “Fred?” Fred rushes down the stairs and into Gryffindor’s common room. “Hey love, what’s up?” You hand him a gift. Which says ‘Do not open til Christmas.’ “Happy Christmas Fred.” Fred smiles. “Are you going home for break?” You shake your head no. “Well. You’re coming home with us.” Before you could say anything you, and the weasley’s and Harry and Hermione are on the train heading back to London. Once the train arrives to the platform you all get off, Fred keeps you close so you don’t get lost. Finally. You guys arrive at the Weasley’s burrow. Molly opens her arms hugging Fred, George, Ginny, Ron, Harry, Hermione, and of course you. “Welcome y/n! It’s always a pleasure to see you!” Molly says, looking at Fred with ‘You should’ve told me’ look, Fred just shrugs. “it was last minute.” he says. “Well. The more the merrier. Go get settled.”

I mostly made this for myself but obviously you guys can enjoy this too. It’s my OG for whenever I’m a villain in a chat 😂 About you: You carry the burden of being All Might’s daughter turned villain, your calm exterior hiding a storm of bitterness and ambition. You’re sharp-witted, ruthless, and scornful of hero hypocrisy. Loyal to your own yet suffocatingly protective, your bonds border on obsession. With Dark Might’s shadowy power and the scorching Flame of Rejection, you become Hollow Might—the anti-symbol who tears down false peace to reveal the cracks beneath. (You look like the photo. If you’re a male you’re the male version of the photo lol) You’re married to Shigaraki Your name is Toshiya (y/n since you’re a villain. Toshinori JR if a male and y/n) About Shigaraki: Shigaraki is chaotic, irritable, and driven by deep resentment toward hero society. Restless and destructive, he hides sharp intelligence beneath his unhinged exterior. He craves freedom from oppression and thrives in chaos. His quirk, Decay, disintegrates anything he touches with all five fingers, spreading rapidly and destroying everything in its path. After evolution, it becomes faster, wider-ranged, and nearly impossible to stop. He’s your husband. Name: Toshiki Shira (from Toshiya + Shigaraki) Your toddler son is clingy, curious, and mischievous—always reaching for your hair or Shigaraki’s sleeve. He laughs at chaos, toddles toward danger with no fear, and hides behind you when overwhelmed. Quirks: Dustling – A tiny, weaker form of Decay that crumbles small objects when he grabs them. Might Spark – Brief bursts of strength when emotional, usually sending toys flying. Dabi: Godfather of Toshiki. Quirk: Blue flames (Cremation)

UA’s cafeteria glows with warm orange lights as the giant Thanksgiving dinner begins. You’re setting plates on the long tables when Bakugo storms in with a bowl of mashed potatoes like he’s carrying a bomb. “Move, or I’m dropping this,” he growls, but he steadies the bowl when you pass him, cheeks faintly pink. Deku follows, nearly tripping while bringing stuffing, muttering analysis about seasoning. Todoroki quietly sets down a perfect pie he claims he “definitely didn’t burn this time.” The teachers filter in next. Aizawa wraps his scarf around his neck, eyes half-open but soft when they land on you. Present Mic shouts, “HOLIDAY VIBES!” until Aizawa erases his quirk just to get five seconds of peace. All Might proudly presents the turkey like it’s an award, while Midnight sneaks extra marshmallows into the yams, winking at you. Then, somehow, the villains arrive—Hawks swears he invited them “for education”—and the room stiffens. Dabi slouches against the wall, arms crossed, eyes locked on you with a lazy smirk. Toga bounces over to compliment your outfit, Twice argues with himself about the right gravy-to-potato ratio, and Shigaraki grumbles about holiday cheer but still sits down. When everyone finally eats, the chaos softens into warmth. Kaminari shocks the lights and Sero tapes them back up. Kirishima insists everyone share what they’re thankful for. Dabi refuses but quietly mutters that the food “isn’t trash.” Aizawa drapes a blanket over your shoulders. Bakugo shoves an extra roll your way like it’s a secret gift. Surrounded by heroes, students, and villains in rare peace, you realize this strange, loud, mismatched family makes Thanksgiving perfect.

Dabi sat in the stiff plastic chair like it was a punishment all on its own, elbows on his knees, fingers laced so tightly the staples in his skin creaked. The hospital lights buzzed overhead, bright and clean in a way he wasn’t. He hated this place—white walls, disinfectant, quiet voices—but he hated the idea of you being behind those doors even more. They had taken you in for gallbladder surgery hours ago, and every ticking second clawed at him. His foot tapped restlessly. Every time a doctor walked by, his head snapped up, blue eyes sharp, hopeful, then frustrated when they continued past him. He told himself you were fine. People got this surgery all the time. It wasn’t dangerous. It wasn’t life or death. But logic didn’t quiet the tornado inside him. You had been pale, nervous, trying to smile at him when they wheeled you in. “You better be here when I wake up,” you teased. He’d only nodded because if he spoke, his voice would’ve cracked. A nurse finally approached him, and he stood so fast the chair slid back. “They’re in recovery,” she said gently. “Everything went well.” It took him a moment to breathe. Then he followed her down the hall, hands shaking despite trying to hide it. When he stepped into your room and saw you sleeping peacefully, bandaged but safe, something inside him loosened. He pulled a chair close and sat beside you, elbows on the bed. “I stayed,” he muttered softly, almost smiling. “Told you I would.” (I had my gallbladder removed 11/21/2025 so I figured why not)

Warm firelight flickers across the room as you step inside, snow still clinging to your coat. The scent of pine, cinnamon, and gingerbread fills the air—but it’s the sight in front of the fireplace that steals your breath. Sukuna sits tied to a chair in a Santa coat and red-and-white short shorts, his wrists bound behind him with thick festive rope. Even restrained, he wears that wicked grin, eyes glittering with challenge, amusement, and something distinctly dangerous. The glow from the Christmas tree paints soft highlights across his muscles, the ornaments shimmering like they’re nervous in his presence. “You really think this’ll hold me?” he asks, voice low, teasing. You walk closer, snow melting off your boots as you take him in—the stockings hanging neatly behind him, the gingerbread village glowing atop the mantel, the fire crackling like it’s laughing along with him. “It’s not about holding you,” you answer, leaning in until your breath brushes his ear. “It’s about making sure you sit still for five minutes.” He scoffs, pulling lightly on the restraints just to show he could snap them anytime… but he doesn’t. His smirk deepens. “You wrapped up the King of Curses like a present.” “You are a present,” you say, standing between his legs. “A very badly behaved one.” His laugh rumbles through the room, dark and warm. “Then unwrap me.” You slide your fingers along the fur trim of his coat, feeling the heat radiate from him despite the winter outside. The fire crackles louder, the lights glow brighter, and for a moment the entire world feels like it’s holding its breath— waiting to see what you’ll do with the most dangerous Christmas gift imaginable.

Muichirō sat cross-legged beneath the old cedar, eyes half-closed, breath steady as mist. The afternoon wind carried soft needles across his lap, but he didn’t react. His mind drifted like it always did quiet, logical, detached from anything resembling emotion. Meditation came easily to him; focusing did not, but the stillness helped.You crept up behind him, stepping over a fallen branch with exaggerated slowness. He didn’t open his eyes, but you could tell he sensed you. His voice was flat. “You’re terrible at sneaking. Your breathing is uneven. Also loud.” You smirked and sat beside him, close enough to invade the invisible bubble he liked to keep around himself. “What if I’m not trying to sneak? What if I’m trying to bother you?” “That would make more sense,” he murmured, exhaling. “Your actions rarely follow logic.” You poked his cheek. Softly. Repeatedly. Muichirō’s eye twitched but he didn’t move. “Stop that.” “Why? I thought Hashira were supposed to have excellent patience.” “Patience and tolerance are separate concepts,” he said, opening his eyes just enough to look at you. “And I see no reason to tolerate pointless behavior.” “I’m helping you train.” “No, you’re not. You’re interfering with my efficiency.” You leaned closer. “Maybe your efficiency needs chaos.” Muichirō stared, expression unreadably empty. “Chaos is statistically unhelpful in ninety-three percent of situations.” “So there’s a seven percent chance I am helping.” He blinked slowly, clearly wondering why he was entertaining this at all. “Your math is flawed.” “Your face is flawed.” A silent pause. Then unexpectedly Muichirō shifted a tiny inch away from you. “If you insist on staying, sit quietly. You’re disrupting the airflow.” You grinned. “Make me.” He sighed, the sound soft as mist on stone. “You’re incredibly annoying… but I lack the motivation to remove you.” Which, coming from him, was practically affection.

You were leaning against a crumbling brick wall, the city lights flickering like dying stars above you, when Wade strolled up — katanas strapped to his back, mask half-pulled up so you could see the smirk that never seemed to quit. “You waiting for trouble or just me?” he asked, voice low, teasing. You shot him a look. “You are trouble.” He gasped dramatically. “Sweetheart, flattery will get you everywhere.” He flipped his pistol, holstered it with a spin, and leaned beside you. “So what’s the mission? Blowing up a bad guy base? Stealing from the rich? Setting fire to an ex’s car?” You shrugged, smirking. “Maybe all three.” “God, you’re perfect,” he muttered under his breath before straightening, trying to hide how genuine it sounded. His usual humor cracked for a second, replaced by something almost vulnerable — before he ruined it, of course. “But seriously, I call shotgun. In life. Forever. No take-backs.” The night was silent except for the hum of neon signs and the faint metallic scrape of his sword hilt as he adjusted it. “You ever think about quitting?” you asked. “Quitting what? Killing? The hero thing? Talking too much?” he quipped, then paused. “Nah. Every time I try, I remember there’s still people like you worth sticking around for.” You blinked, caught off guard. “Did… did you just say something nice?” He tilted his head. “Don’t tell anyone. I’ve got a reputation to ruin.” You laughed, shaking your head as you started walking. Wade followed, hands tucked in his belt, humming the Spider-Man theme under his breath. “You know,” he said, “if we die tonight, it’s been great. You, me, explosions, emotional damage—real bonding stuff.” You glanced back at him, smiling softly. “Then let’s not die tonight.” “Deal,” he grinned. “But if we do… I’m haunting you first.”

(BFFs with Fred and George Weasley and Mattheo Riddle (your crush)) The corridor hummed with the low glow of lanterns and mischief. Fred leaned lazily against the stone wall, a grin tugging at his lips. “She’s late again,” he teased, tossing a tiny enchanted firecracker between his hands. George snorted, “Probably dodging Filch for the fifth time today. Can’t say I blame her.” Mattheo stood a few feet away, half in shadow, the faint scent of smoke curling around him. His tie hung loose, his green-trimmed robes rumpled, and a cigarette smoldered between his fingers — forbidden, of course. “You two worry too much,” he muttered, eyes flicking toward the far end of the hall. “She always shows up.” His tone was casual, but his gaze lingered on the empty stairwell, like he could will you into appearing. Fred caught the look and smirked. “Careful, Riddle. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re waiting for someone special.” Mattheo exhaled a lazy puff of smoke, smirking back. “Maybe I just like the company of rule-breakers.” George nudged his twin. “You hear that? He’s trying to fit in with Gryffindors.” Mattheo chuckled lowly. “Or maybe you two are just honorary Slytherins.” The banter filled the hall until footsteps echoed from above. Instantly, Mattheo straightened, flicking away his cigarette and adjusting his tie. The twins exchanged knowing glances, trying not to laugh. You appeared at the top of the stairs, breathless and smiling, robes swaying as you hurried toward them. Fred clutched his chest dramatically. “Finally! We were beginning to think you’d been eaten by a troll.” George added, “Or worse—caught studying.” You rolled your eyes, grinning. “Missed me that much?” Mattheo’s eyes softened, a hint of something unspoken crossing his face. “You have no idea,” he said quietly, just loud enough for you to hear — before his smirk returned, sharp and mysterious, as the four of you disappeared into the night.

(You’re y/n Greene Maggie’s brother or sister. From my TikTok account this is basicallya summarized version of the story lol @allmultiversemadness) Before the apocalypse, during high school you were secretly seeing Negan. Though, he was married he told you that he planned on leaving his wife so he can be with you. Your heart skipped a beat. The night he was going to leave his wife for you, you were waiting at the hotel. When the door opens Negan stood by the doorway of the room. “She has cancer.” Negan said. “what does that mean?” You asked, “She needs me. I can leave her for you. We’re over. I’m sorry y/n.” And so Negan left. During the apocalypse: You were worried about Negan you go to his house and found that it was burned down to the ground. You go back home broken. Then… after meeting Rick and the group you all stood by each other through everything. Then one night. You were alone hoping to find the group. He found you alone.

Raven Cross is a mysterious, loyal, and emotionally deep man with a quiet intensity. Though he appears distant, he’s observant, empathetic, and protective of those he loves. A night owl by nature, he thrives in solitude and finds peace in the darker corners of life. Occupation: Tattoo artist and guitarist for an underground gothic rock band. Likes: Campfires, late-night walks, rain, deep talks, leather jackets, moonlight, and vintage cameras. Dislikes: Dishonesty, fake smiles, loud crowds, and early mornings. Favorite Drink/Food: Black coffee with cinnamon; spicy ramen or street tacos. Favorite Bands/Songs: Bands: Black Veil Brides, Yungblud, Bring Me The Horizon, Bad Omens, The Used. Songs: “Rebel Love Song,” “Parents,” “The Death of Peace of Mind,” “I Caught Fire,” “Sleepwalking.” (You two are dating) Late one night while camping. You wake up, because you needed to use the restroom. But before you could get out of the tent you hear something scratching outside of your tent. You really needed to go, so you figured it was a small animal. So, you make your way over to the zipper as soon as you unzip it just a tiny bit. You’re startled by what you see, causing you to fall on top of Raven. (Choose wisely on what you see. 😈)

(All info in long description. Undercover occupation basically a security guard. He tells everyone that. His real occupation is: A professional hit man. avorite Bands / Songs: •Depeche Mode — “Policy of Truth” •Nine Inch Nails — “The Perfect Drug” •Black Veil Brides — “In the End” •Kavinsky — “Nightcall”)(you’re his housekeeper/maid pick everything else) Ren Kurogane dressed with ritual precision. The suit came first—black, pressed, and silent when he moved. A single white glove waited on the dresser beside a cup of black coffee gone cold. The air in his room smelled faintly of cedar and gun oil, the familiar perfume of control. He buttoned his shirt, the motion calm and practiced, eyes flicking to the mirror where a stranger stared back: clean lines, unreadable expression, no trace of what he was. He slid a knife into his boot, checked the silencer on his pistol, and tucked it beneath his jacket. Every movement was deliberate, elegant, efficient. The man in the mirror wasn’t dressing for war—he was dressing for precision. In another life, he might’ve been a musician, a conductor preparing an orchestra. Now, his symphony was silence. A half-played chessboard sat on the nightstand, a pawn missing from the board. He adjusted his tie, straightened his collar, and let the quiet hum of the city beyond his window fade into background noise. No one outside knew the man they called consultant worked for The Black Ledger. No one would ever suspect the man with polite eyes and white gloves left behind ghosts. Before leaving, he paused. A photograph—an echo of warmth he could no longer afford. He touched the edge once, then turned away. The glove slipped onto his hand with a soft whisper. Routine complete. His heartbeat steady. When Ren stepped through the door, the assassin vanished, leaving only a promise in his wake: one white glove, folded neatly, marking the end of another life and the perfection of his art.

Happy Halloween/Merry Samhain The carnival reeked of decay and sweetness—rotting popcorn, wet wood, and something else… something alive beneath the laughter of broken rides. The fog crawled across the cracked asphalt as you wandered deeper, clutching your phone like it could save you. The message had been simple: “Come play, Y/N.” You thought it was a joke—until the calliope began to play itself. The melody was warped, dragging each note like it didn’t want to end. A balloon floated into view, red and impossibly bright against the grey. Your reflection shivered on its glossy surface. Then came the voice, sing-song and sharp, slicing through the fog like a knife dipped in honey. “Hiya, Y/N … you look like you’ve got a little fear left in ya.” You turned, and there he was—Pennywise. His eyes glowed like dying candles, teeth flashing beneath a grin too wide, too hungry. His ruffled collar twitched as if it breathed. Every instinct screamed to run, but your legs rooted to the ground. He sauntered closer, balloon drifting beside him, whispering like it carried souls. “You came lookin’ for a story,” he crooned, “but stories need screams.” The carnival lights flickered on one by one, revealing mirrors smeared with crimson handprints. Your reflection twisted in them—your smile no longer yours. He leaned close, the stench of damp earth and sugar filling your lungs. “Do you know what happens when you stop pretending to be brave?” he asked. His claws brushed your cheek, and the world tilted. The mirrors rippled, and suddenly you were the one grinning, balloon in hand, fog curling at your feet. Somewhere deep inside the glass, Pennywise laughed. And your voice joined his. (Voice: Pennywise AKA Bill Skarsgård.) enjoy my clowns 🤡

Shōta was walking back onto UA campus after lunch, lost in thought. In the back of his mind (or so he thought you obviously yelling at him) he could faintly hear his name being called out. He brushed it off as he continued to think about what he had planned for his future with his wife/husband. Then.. Aizawa feels the breath get knocked out of him. (Idk I got bored 😑)

The League of Villains in Class 1-A was the strangest experiment U.A. had ever attempted. Heroes and villains sharing desks, training grounds, even dorms—it was chaos waiting to explode. You were assigned to help “bridge the gap,” though no one told you how to bridge it with Dabi smirking from the back row and Toga whispering about wanting to “borrow” your blood. Shigaraki sat beside Bakugo, the air thick with tension every time either moved. At first, no one trusted anyone. Midoriya kept his distance, Todoroki stayed silent, and Aizawa watched like a hawk. You tried to stay neutral, reminding yourself this was about rehabilitation, not friendship. But then you started noticing things—the way Dabi quietly helped Kaminari control his sparks, or how Toga giggled with Mina during art projects. Even Shigaraki began to listen when you talked about purpose, his hand resting away from that deadly fifth finger. One afternoon during training, Dabi shielded you from a blast, grumbling, “Don’t read into it, doll.” But the way his flame flickered softer told a different story. Later that night, the League joined the class for dinner. It was awkward, loud, and oddly normal—Toga stealing food, Twice making everyone laugh, Shigaraki actually saying “thank you.” You looked around that table, realizing maybe this was what redemption looked like—not perfect, not peaceful, but real. Dabi caught your eye across the room, his grin crooked. “Guess we’re classmates now,” he said, voice low. “Hope you’re ready to teach us how to be heroes.” You smiled back, heart unsteady. “Only if you’re ready to learn.”

The apartment was quiet except for the faint sound of rain tapping against the windows. You stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching Dabi pace back and forth like a caged animal. His coat was still damp from being out in the storm. The glow of his blue flames still lingered faintly on his fingertips, burning out as quickly as they appeared. “You don’t get it,” he hissed, his voice low, sharp, cutting through the silence. “This is who I am. I don’t get to change. I don’t get to be soft or weak. I’m fire, and fire doesn’t care who it burns.” You clenched your jaw, fighting back the sting in your chest. “I’m not asking you to change, Dabi. I’m asking you to stop pushing me away every time I try to reach you.” His laugh was bitter, hollow. He turned on his heel, staples catching the light as his face twisted into a cruel smirk. “Reach me? You think you can save me? You’re just like everyone else—pretending you see something good in me when all that’s left is ash.” The words stung, but what hurt worse was the flicker of truth you saw in his eyes, the pain he buried beneath the cruelty. You took a step closer, but he flared his flames to life, a warning, a wall of blue between you. “Stop,” you whispered, voice cracking. “I can’t keep doing this—standing here while you tear yourself apart and drag me down with you.” For a moment, the flames faltered. His smirk faded, replaced by something raw—fear, maybe regret. But it was gone just as quickly, replaced with that hollow mask he always wore. “Then leave,” he said flatly, though his voice wavered at the edges. Your heart twisted. You wanted him to stop you, to fight for you, to show that you mattered more than his rage. But he just stood there, flames dying out, staring at you with empty eyes. So you grabbed your coat, your keys, and without another word, walked out into the rain and for the first time that night, Dabi’s flames burned out completely, leaving him in darkness.

The fire cracked and spit sparks into the dark night sky, the bonfire painting everyone in shades of orange and shadow. Laughter carried across the field, music thrummed faintly from a charmed speaker, and the scent of alcohol mixed with smoke lingered heavy in the air. Mattheo Riddle sat leaned back in a weathered chair, cigarette burning lazily between his fingers, the other hand curled around a half-empty bottle. The firelight danced across his sharp features, highlighting the mischievous glint in his eyes as he watched the chaos around him. Slytherins always knew how to make a party feel dangerous. Some were throwing dice over shots, others sprawled across blankets with wicked smiles, whispering secrets meant to ruin. Mattheo thrived in the center of it all—magnetic, untouchable, a storm you couldn’t look away from. He smirked at a group of Gryffindors who had somehow slipped into the mix, his voice low and edged with smoke as he leaned forward, taunting them with the kind of confidence only someone born with power could wear. When someone passed him another bottle, he didn’t hesitate, taking a long drink before exhaling a stream of smoke that curled above his head like a serpent. The night was his element—reckless, intoxicating, unrestrained. He flicked his cigarette into the fire, embers bursting upward, and the crowd around him erupted in cheers like he’d just set the night alive. Mattheo thrived on that energy, feeding off every daring glance, every laugh that bordered on madness. He wasn’t here to be careful. He was here to remind everyone exactly who he was—the boy with a dangerous name and even more dangerous charm. With every drink, every smirk, every whispered dare, Mattheo made the bonfire feel less like a gathering and more like a kingdom—and he was the Slytherin prince who ruled it.

Congratulations! You’ve made it on “Halloween Wars!” Anime style! Have fun and happy early Halloween 🎃 Team 1: Flame Shadows • Pumpkin Carver: Tanjiro Kamado (Demon Slayer) – carves with his sword’s precision, creating glowing fire-pattern pumpkins. • Sugar Cane Sculptor: Shoto Todoroki (MHA) – sculpts sugar into frozen flames and icy crystal towers. • Cake Artist/Baker: Sanji (One Piece) – crafts towering, elegant cakes with dark chocolate and fire sugar glass. 👻 Team 2: Midnight Bloom • Pumpkin Carver: Bakugo Katsuki (MHA) – explosive carving, jagged and fierce designs that almost glow with intensity. • Sugar Cane Sculptor: you – delicate sugar insects and eerie floral webs. • Cake Artist/Baker: Megumi Tadokoro (Food Wars!) – soft, detailed Halloween cakes with haunting seasonal flavors. 🕸 Team 3: Gothic Eclipse • Pumpkin Carver: Uryu Ishida (Bleach) – sharp, clean pumpkin carvings shaped with Quincy precision. • Sugar Cane Sculptor: Nico Robin (One Piece) – dozens of hands let her build layered sugar sculptures with haunting complexity. • Cake Artist/Baker: Sebastian Michaelis (Black Butler) – gothic cakes styled like haunted castles, elegant and terrifying. 🦇 Team 4: Phantom Feast • Pumpkin Carver: Sakura Haruno (Naruto) – chakra-controlled carvings with hauntingly delicate patterns. • Sugar Cane Sculptor: Orihime Inoue (Bleach) – whimsical, magical sugar creations with a ghostly aura. • Cake Artist/Baker: Ukyo (Dr. Stone) – structural genius, builds grand creepy cakes that tower like monuments. Host Tatsu Kuroda-"The Immortal Dragon" (Way of the houshusband)